


Coffee.

by persistent_pedantry



Series: The Escapades of Minerva and R [14]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistent_pedantry/pseuds/persistent_pedantry
Summary: You ever write something while two blinks away from passing out?
Series: The Escapades of Minerva and R [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483421





	Coffee.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're going through Escapades, you should've just read Rage. Well, get ready for a lil' whiplash 'cause I wrote this after having not slept for a good 30 hours.

Minerva likes coffee. René, unlike most of his family, also likes coffee; they’re the sophisticated sort, so it’s only the finest of hot leaf-water for them. Then again coffee is just bean-water so... eh. Coffee has been a sort of form of bonding for Minerva and René for a long while, and before that, it was hot chocolate. Sometimes Minerva still has that over coffee, but René has far too much pride to have such a childish drink — though, he does have mocha every now and then.

“So this is just a story about coffee?” Minerva asks.

René looks at her confusedly, idly stirring his half-filled cup. “A story? Of what regard?”

“Y’know, we’re in a story and all. We’re just fictional characters of some—“

“Minerva, you’re being delusional.”

The Gardevoir frowns, taking another drink of her latte. “Fair enough. Well, uh... why do you think I speak so much like them? Y’know, they’re the writer, I’m Minerva, but we speak similarly.”

René shrugs, still stirring his cappuccino disinterestedly. He probably should have just got a latte. “I don’t know,” he says, playing along. “Maybe you’re a self-insert.”

“Right,” Minerva says with a small nod, leaning back against the comfortable chair. “I, the psychopathic, homosexual, larcenist Gardevoir, am a self-insert. How precise would that really be?”

“They could be the same age, have the same sexuality, birthday, so on.”

“Well, why not you?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue.”

Minerva sips at her coffee, stretching her legs with a grumble. “Do you think they’re gay?”

“It’s rather uncouth to ask.”

“Yeah, but... I mean, they play a lesbian.”

“That’s just the sign of a versatile writer.”

“They also assumedly play a straight-as-a-board, Sherlock-looking Hunter.”

“I don’t know who you’re referring to with ‘Sherlock’, but perhaps they’re just very versatile.” René suggests with a shrug.

Looking at René, Minerva smiles. “Oh, good. Now autocorrect does that accent in your name.”

“What?”

“I have no idea. Let’s just drink our coffee and go before—“

An explosion occurs, and the coffee shop or wherever they’re in’s wall also explodes since that... was... what... caused the explosion? I guess? A guy lies heavily injured on the floor, a woman with a ring box in her hand sobbing beside him.

The cause of the explosion, a Southern-looking man with a curious white and fluffy eye laughs heartily, pulling up his belt.

“I thought you had gone forever!” The woman cries.

“Naw, darlin’, don’t’chu think that for a seckin’!” The Southern man with an explosion fetish laughs.

“I was about to propose! I—“

And he disappeared. Just— he just completely disappeared. What the hell.

“What the fuck?” René asks, staring at the gap in the wall. Minerva seems equally confused.

The woman, still sobbing quietly, shakily replies. “I... I was cursed long ago. The curse, the old incantation, it all makes sense now...”

“What? What incantation?” Minerva asks, René nudging her. Oh, right. She’s mute.

“What incantation?” René asks in Minerva’s place.

Still sobbing quietly, the woman recites the words, a shaky, broken tune lay over them:

_”If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eye Joe_

_I’d’a been married a long time ago_

_Where did you come from?_

_Where did you go?_

_Where did you come from,_

_Cotton-Eye Joe?”_

Minerva groans. “God fucking damn it.”


End file.
